An Unwavering Promise
by FreedomOftheSeas
Summary: My response to POTCFest Prompt: Pintel and Ragetti, Barbossa's apples and Ragetti's eye.
1. Part I: Barbossa's Apples

**A/N: **My response to Prompt #91 for POTCfest: Pintel and Ragetti, Barbossa's apples and Ragetti's eye.

Enjoy!

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**An Unwavering Promise: Part I**

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The shadowy darkness of night overcame the sea with a fiery passion, devouring the very essence of light. Trickles of white, fragmented, specks danced across the haunting blank canvas of nocturnal bliss, emanating pure radiance in the presence of the unknown.

The whooshing sound of waves filled his delicate ears, crashing forcefully into _The Blessed Sin's_ narrow hull, causing the ship to endlessly sway restlessly with the ocean. The smell of salt in the breeze revived him, for tonight would be tragically long and restless.

"Oi, boy!" A lone voice called out to him through the abyss.

The young man turned his gaze to the worrisome face of the ship's First Mate, letting his right hand gently rest on the smooth, mahogany rail of the forecastle deck, feeling its cool warmth on his throbbing pulse.

"The captain wishes to see you," he stated, holding his tricorne hat near his chest, gripping its finely contoured edges while fumbling his fingers from its intricate stitching.

He nodded a response, feeling his heart race; this could only mean one thing.

Entering the threshold of his beloved captain's cabin was like arriving at an irreconcilable purgatory. The air stank of rotting flesh and vile, festering illness. There was no doubt that his captain would not be able to survive through the night.

"Ah, Hector. My boy," the captain smiled, trying as best he could to lift himself from his confinement amidst tangled sheets. Successfully propping himself on his elbows, he beckoned his young helmsman to come to his bedside.

Young Hector stepped forward, making his way around a series of tables that featured various open books, logs, and old parchment maps – pieces of his captain's celebrated legacy. One table was adorned with a thick, rich bushel of green apples, the captain's fruit of course. He took one, dropping it down into his pocket before he stepped through the thin curtain of his captain's sleeping quarters, slightly hesitating at the sight before him.

Lord Isaac Reinhart, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, a most revered captain and accomplished sailor who was always well-armed with two braces of cocked, polished zinc pistols, various hidden daggers, and one finely crafted cutlass. Isaac was a man like no other: a man who sailed as if the devil himself were after him, a man of incalculably good fortune and fine taste, a man who treated his crew with great honor and respect. He was a man who Hector wished many a time were his own father, and now he was nothing more than a festering corpse, waiting to greet the locker with open arms and open mind. Hector grimaced at the sight, knowing Isaac was once a stronger man. Yet, he could not recognize the man that laid before him, battered and broken from their previous battle with an East India Trading Company's galleon, _The Wicked Wench_. The crew of _The Blessed Sin_ fought for their lives but _The Wicked Wench _was strong and relentless, when she seemed to near the edges of defeat, she rallied back into the battle, ordering storms of ruthless cannonade. It was captained by a very young man of seventeen, adorned with long dark hair and matching chocolate eyes. It was a face Hector would not forget for the rest of his days.

Despite the pirate's passionate and vigorous combat, the battle was over no sooner than it begun. _The Blessed Sin_ was secured, only to find their beloved captain lying still and motionless; his legs along with parts of his torso were ripped down to the bone, fragments of mortar melted into his flesh, causing dark, black residue to overcome his once youthful anatomy. The decks were strewn in his blood.

The ship's physician did as best he could, stitching the good captain's fatal wounds yet he couldn't ease the pain or aid his rising fever.

"A bit closer, boy. I hope I don't appear too distasteful," he urged, feeling his breath escape his heaving lungs as he cough viciously.

"Ye shouldn't be up, sir. Ye know full well of yer condition," he warned, grasping Isaac's weakened shoulders while noticeably shaking at the sight of blood stained sheets and old bandages.

"Aye, son. I know full well of my condition, that is why you're here … Sit down boy! You're making me nervous!"

He obeyed, pulling up an old chair to his captain's bedside.

Isaac extracted a small round object from his pocket. "Hector, my son," he whispered. "You know, I call you that because we are like father and son – you and I,' he added, smiling at the young boy.

"When you become a father one day, Hector, you'll find that you often try to leave behind a piece of yourself to those you care for the most. You'll also find that the majority of men have nothing to leave behind but countless words of extraordinary circumstance, while there are some that seem to have all the silver and gold a man could ever want in this world," he explained, holding the small sphere in his fingers.

"I pass this on to you, my son – mind you it is neither silver nor gold. But what I give you is different _breed _of treasure and I give it to you in great hopes that you will one day accomplish a feat that will change the course of time."

He nodded, eyes swelling, sitting steadfast and ready to accept any mission from this man.

"You must take back the sea, Hector," he coaxed, gently taking Hector's hand and placing the small wooden sphere in his palm, closing it slowly with his thin, sullied fingers.

"You must bring her back, if you do not bring her back, the sea will no longer be free."

"Bring back what exactly?" he replied in a whisper, as if Isaac were telling him a long forgotten folk tale.

"The sea goddess herself – Calypso," He whispered slowly, each syllable rolling of his tongue like waves on a beach.

He passionately gripped Hector's hand. "Remember, you must not lose this," he added hastily. "This is one of the nine pieces of eight. You must keep it safe," He nodded, widening his gaze at the young man before him.

"Nine pieces of eight?"

"Promise me, Hector!" he urged, noticing a visible hesitation in Hector's icy, blue eyes.

"Promise me!" he exclaimed once more. "You are a Pirate Lord now, Hector. You must promise me." His eyes grew wide with anticipation.

"I - I promise, sir." He stammered.

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The next morning, Hector Barbossa stood at the helm as a new man – head held high, feet planted firmly, unwavering and true. His long, fair hair flowing gracefully in the early morning breeze as he watched the sun smolder over the distant horizon, bringing forth a new day and sprinkling streams of light upon each crest of sea.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the apple he had taken just a few short hours ago from his former captain's cabin. Isaac died over the course of the evening, his soul passing on to sail forever in the depths of Davy Jones' Locker. Isaac's cabin was now his cabin and he could take what he liked.

He studied the apples rounded shape for a moment, gripping it tightly to feel its firmness, closing his eyes to listen to the calmness of the sea, feeling one with the wind.

He opened his eyes, fixating them once more, on the shimmering, orange horizon.

"I promise." He uttered, biting down hard on the apple's smooth green surface, letting its sweet juices flow down his chin.

_I promise_.


	2. Part II: Ragetti's Eye

**An Unwavering Promise: Part II**

_**Fifteen Years Later**_

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Hector Barbossa grazed the smooth pegs of the _Black Pearl_ with the tips of his fingers, feeling the immense power of the _Pearl_ beneath his feet as it commanded the sea. He abandoned the life of an honest sailor many years ago, relying on fortuitous circumstance and a good old bit of pirating for his profits.

Barbossa was always very well armed under his brown, double-breasted waistcoat and made sure to carry all of his valuable items on his person, especially his silver lion's head ring – a most symbolic item, for it showed his status as a leader among his peers. He was a mirror image of Isaac in his prime, yet treading along his own path.

His features had greatly aged over time; his face was now covered with countless freckles and scars. Each scar came with price and profit, mapping the journey of his life and harvesting a wiser mind due to lessons learned.

'_You must keep it safe.' _

It was not until now, on the _Black Pearl, _that Hector Barbossa found his safe haven in a very peculiar place.

"The mooring line! The _mooring _line, you idiot!" Pintel screeched at the top of his lungs from the Tortugain docks.

"You know I can't see!" Ragetti retorted, pointing at his empty eye socket.

"O' shut it! Ever since ye lost that infernal eye o' yours I've 'eard nothin' but complainin' from the likes of ya!'

"I'd like to see ya loose an eye!" he contested. "Then maybe you'd 'ave a bit more sympathy fo' me," he sniffed, folding his arms.

"Oh," he raised his brow. "A bit mo' sympathy? Is that what ya want?" Pintel inquired, beginning to roll up his sleeves, flashing Ragetti a devious smile as he gritted his teeth.

"On second thought," Ragetti stated, raising a finger to his angry counterpart, beginning to back away slowly.

"Come 'ere you good fo' nothin' bilge rat!"

"Masters Pintel and Ragetti!" A harsh voice interrupted.

Both men stopped in their tracks, Pintel's left arm lay still in the air with his hand gripped tightly around Ragetti's lean neck.

"At ease, gents," Barbossa sighed, shaking his head as he turned his attention toward Ragetti's empty eye socket.

"Master Ragetti, I have some matters to discuss with ye in my cabin," Barbossa stated, turning in the direction of his cabin, holding his hands behind his back as he headed toward the large, black French doors.

"He started it, Cap'n! I swear!" Ragetti protested as Barbossa disappeared through the threshold.

Pintel grimaced. "Shut yer trap!" he whispered through his teeth, stubbing Ragetti's toe.

"Ow!" Ragetti yelped, grabbing his foot with his hands as he hopped around on the other.

"Get in there! Cap'n's waiting fer ya!" Pintel exclaimed, pushing Ragetti through the threshold of Barbossa's cabin.

* * *

Ragetti staggered out of the cabin several moments later, feverishly rubbing the right side of his face.

"What did the Captain want?" Pintel inquired, noticing something strangely different about his scrawny nephew.

"Oi! Where'd you get that from?" He said, pointing at Ragetti's new wooden eye.

"Can't tell ya."

"Wha'?"

"Ya heard me! I can't tell ya," Ragetti retorted, rubbing away at his newly acquired eye, feeling rather good about himself.

"Since when did you become chums with the Captain?" Pintel inquired in a jealous fit.

"What's wrong with bein' chums with Barbossa? Fine man if ye ask me," he stated, straightening his collar, nose lifted high in the air.

"If my memory serves me righ' I believe we were chums first!"

"Aye, that's right. We'd be chummier if you'd stop tryin' to ring me neck!" Ragetti confirmed, nodding his head.

"Can ye at least see better with it?"

He closed his good eye. "Not really."

"Then what good is it then?"

"I guess the Captain figures that I gotta keep my image," he offered, folding his arms.

"Image? I'll show you _image_ if ye don't haul in that godforsaken mooring line!"


End file.
